


Lucky

by yanlovex3



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Dark, F/M, Jesse’s arm can go brrrr, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Spanking, Non-Consensual Touching, Spanking, Stalking, Writing jesse mccree x reader in the devils year of 2020?, Yandere, absolutely - Freeform, noncon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:48:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24568762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yanlovex3/pseuds/yanlovex3
Summary: You start to realise that there’s a reason for your luck. Unfortunately, that reason comes with a price.
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Reader
Comments: 15
Kudos: 174





	Lucky

**Author's Note:**

> [💖Tumblr💖](https://www.tumblr.yanlovex3.com)

You must’ve trawled through every bar in the area now, searching for one that you could settle down in for a furtive, lonely drink. None of them seemed to be a perfect fit. Too loud, too quiet, awful atmosphere, poor drink variety, everyone was already in some sort of clique or nobody wanted to talk to anyone at all. Which you suppose fitted you in your own circumstances, but a lack of noise in bars always made you uneasy.

It’s been rough, recently. This town seemed like a glowing beacon of hope in the beginning, a place to get a fresh start and live a quieter life. With every passing second spent in it, you only realise how run down it is. And everyone else is just like you in the saddest ways possible, coming to repress their sorrows and past lives in their own, unique ways.

You wander down the streets, trying to manipulate your body in such a way so nobody thinks you’re looking for trouble. It’s difficult to get the walking pace exact, but you manage.

There’s a lot of establishments in this part of town that resemble something more old-fashioned. The most modern thing they possess is a crummy television in one corner, or the bartender’s mobile phone. When your eyes familiarise themselves with neon signs resembling drinks, drawing you in like a moth to a flame, your hand is on the door before you can stop yourself.

It’s less alluring on the inside.

This isn’t the bar you think it is. There’s another one just down the street, right? That was the one you were aiming for. Unfortunately, you seem to have missed.

You’re already in the vicinity, completely visible to all of it’s customers. Even if nobody looks at you.

One man, distinctive for a variety of reasons, is tapping his foot every now and then to the low song flowing from the radio. He’s wearing spurs. The metallic noise isn’t too annoying, in fact, it blends right in with the clinking of glasses, the thuds of bottles on splintering wooden tables. There’s perhaps two conversations going on. Everyone else is alone in their thoughts, which is perhaps why they’re attempting to drown them out with alcohol.

You’ve definitely seen him before. The town’s local cowboy. Nobody seemed to want to bring him up in conversation with you. Which was fair enough- everyone’s probably used to him by now, it’s probably rude, but to be a newcomer and to never have this man explained to you…

The bartender acknowledges you with a nod, seeing as you’re the only one who currently needs served. You order a drink- nothing adventurous- and take yourself to one of the tables at the back. Somehow, it feels as if sitting at the bar is far too close to another human. Tonight, you want to drink alone.

The man- the cowboy-man with spurs and a hat- you can feel his eyes on you the moment you slip into the seat. Watching. You’re sure that he was here the last time as well, a couple weeks back during your first round of exploration.

And maybe in another bar in between then and now. Drinking alone. You rarely see him talk to people outside of business.

Ah, if only you hadn’t underestimated the distance of the other bar. That place was a little more lively, however you could still find solitude in it. Frankly, you feel horribly out of place and you want to get out of here as soon as possible. But not- perhaps not too soon, no, that would cause problems. People would notice. See you. Recognise you the next time, if you were ever to come here again. So just one, long drink- and then you’d be out.

You hear someone moving towards you. Spurs jingling. Cowboy-man. He must be well known, surely, cropping up in a variety of locations throughout the town. You may have even seen him frequent your old workplace, however, you’d never spoken to him before.

“Hey, hon?”

He has a weathered voice coated in a thick, Southern drawl. It’s wonderfully deep and rich, intimidating in the sense that it seems to give away how massive he is physically. It’d make sense. You can just see him in your peripheral vision; he’s a hulking figure, bigger up close.

You pick your head up from your drink, tilting your face over to him.

“Yeah?” You say, squinting slightly. Brown hair, longer than what’s usually trendy these days. Dark eyes. Clear-cut facial hair, at least around some edges. He smells of smoke- sweet, intoxicating smoke from the cigars you always seem to see hanging out of his mouth. It’s hard to make eye contact.

“Now, I don’t mean to disturb you,” He begins, causing you to immediately want to tell him that’s exactly what he’s doing. “But there’s some rather… infamous regulars who like to occupy that table around these times. Y’might wanna budge up, sweetheart.”

You can’t bring yourself to be mad at him for the nicknames. The way they drift seamlessly into his speech, you can understand them more as charm than general perversion.

And you don’t feel like standing your ground, either. If a stranger in a desolate bar tells you to move in what’s probably a kinder way than anyone else could, you’re moving. You’re just being smart, if passive.

You move tables to where the cowboy is. He hasn’t moved back to his original place. Instead, he waits for you to plop yourself down opposite him.

You start to wonder if you’re experiencing some form of bullying. Perhaps he actually wanted you to go to _his_ original table. Anxiety floods through your veins but his easy smile makes it a little better.

“Glad t’see yer cleverer than the last ones,” He tells you. “Wasn’t a pretty sight. You, on the other hand…”

No. Okay. Come to terms with this. You’ve accidentally seated yourself next to a creep. Handsome, but- who bothers a woman drinking alone? Well, perhaps he is just flirting. This is a bar, after all, but that’s not quite what you’re looking for tonight- actually, if you make enough comfortable conversation you might be able to squeeze a free drink out of him.

“What were the last ones like?” You say, choosing to ignore his implications.

“Mm…”

He takes another sip. Some sort of hard liquor.

“… started some real bad problems. Got tossed out the bar. Hate to think what’d happen to a girl like you if they’d came in before I said somethin’.”

Well, that made you feel incredibly vulnerable. Exposed. Like you were sitting naked, prey for everyone around you. Especially the man.

But you don’t want to be rude.

“Thank you, uh…?”

“McCree. But it’s Jesse to you.”

First and last name, it’s good to finally know what to call him. And yet, you’re not even sure you should hand him your initials.

“Thank you, Jesse. I’m (Y/N).”

The reaction upon hearing your own name is somewhat disturbing. A sort of nodding along, like he already knew, wanted to mouth it like he was lip-syncing to music.

His own name sounded so familiar. He’d whispered it, too.

That’s unfair to use against him. Everyone’s whispering everything. The tones only get quieter when two men enter the bar, sliding into your previous table. They don’t look like the most pleasant of people.

Jesse gives you a knowing smile.

“So, y’gonna thank me?” He says, quirking an eyebrow.

Your stomach twists. This was all a horrible decision. You should’ve left the moment he started talking to you- you knew there was something off with Jesse, you felt it-

Play dumb.

“Oh- I think I have a little extra change in here,” You say, digging around in your jean pocket. “How much is another one of those?”

You nod towards his drink.

His smile widens, teeth twinkling in the dim light. “You know that’s not what I want, pumpkin.”

You’re lost for words, feeling nauseous in the blistering warmth of his gaze. It’s enough to give someone heatstroke.

“Then-“ You breathe, unknowing of where to go with the sentence. “- I’m not sure what I can offer…”

A warm hand runs over your thigh, gripping at your doughy flesh periodically.

“You’re sure, (Y/N). I don’t need t’come out and say it. Give it a try. Save a horse…”

And within seconds, you’re getting up. His hand detaches instantly. He makes no attempts to get you to come back.

You walk out with his eyes burning into you.

———

The next day, you’re wandering around the town trying to find jobs. Why did it feel like every building around here was in a perpetual state of being closed down? That was how you’d lost the last one. Another waitress stint deserted because the owner couldn’t pay the bills.

McCree _had_ been a customer once or twice, now that you remember. You’d asked if he was a regular and according to the other staff members, they hadn’t seen him around before. In fact, they even played dumb themselves, not letting you have too much information on him, not even his name.

McCree. You can’t get him off your mind. You found traces of him being talked about on the internet- the man definitely had a criminal record. However, he’d apparently went into some sort of military service and everything about him became much harder to get a hold of. Online threads with every message removed, a profile with most information redacted. You’d be right to stay far away from that man.

Towards the end of your job hunt, you find yourself slipping through the doors of a military surplus and weapons store. According to the front window, it’s been open for ten years. Promising.

But upon looking down the two, thin aisles, you see a figure that makes you want to turn back.

“Figured you’d come here,” He says, eyes flitting towards you as he drops a keychain back into it’s box. “How’s your search for employment going?”

You’re paralysed, like ice is building all over your body. He knows. What else does he know?

“Don’t leave me hangin’, now.”

You could turn back. You could sprint out of the store right now.

“It’s- It’s going fine, I guess.”

“Just fine? No immediate acceptances?”

“Yeah- uh, where’s the owner?”

“Sent him in the back to look for a suppressor. This is only a guess, but is this place the last one?”

You hum affirmatively, seeing as this was indeed the last potential workplace on your list. Despite how much Jesse terrified you, you were trying to keep a cool head so you wouldn’t end up on his bad side (by too much).

“Y’know,” He begins, toying with another keychain. “I’d say it’s a wonder that you ain’t been shot or robbed yet, ‘cept I know exactly why that is,”

You’re scared to ask for the reason. Being generous, Jesse lends it to you without any response.

“It’s because I’ve had my eye on you. But you still think you can keep yourself away from me, even when I approach you kindly.”

“You- You call that kind?”

“Would you rather I be cruel?”

The owner comes bustling back through the door with four boxes, declaring them the best he’s got. You leave, the bell on the doorframe ringing in your wake. You can just hear Jesse getting jokingly scolded for scaring off customers, followed by his low chuckle.

You feel like you’re coming down with something, shivering, lightheaded. You’re sick when you go home, heaving over your toilet as your blood boils and freezes at the same time.

Tonight is not a drinking night.

———

You check your emails. You go on social media. You refresh your emails. You torture yourself by trying to find more information on McCree. You refresh your emails.

It all feels pointless but you want _answers_. And not just for if you’ve managed to land a job.

Later in the day, it comes to your attention that you need to go out for groceries. It takes an hour of mental preparation, just trying to get over the hurdle of Jesse McCree in your head. Eventually, you find yourself walking to the store about one hour before it shuts. You’re only picking up necessities- you’ll be quick, you tell yourself. In and out, nothing to be afraid of.

But when the sliding door clicks shut behind you, that awful feeling washes over your body. It amplifies in the toiletries aisle, where a familiar sound creeps up behind you.

“And here I thought you weren’t coming out today, sweet pea. I came close to checkin’ up on you.”

“Please don’t come to my house.” You hastily breathe out, almost dropping the toothpaste on the floor.

“Mm? Why? Think I’m entitled to it by now.”

“I don’t know who you are,”

Your eyes are focused on his feet. Your basket hangs limp in one hand and you’re fighting back tears brimming in your eyes.

“And I don’t know what you want from me. Please leave me alone. I don’t know what kind of assistance you’ve been giving me but I’d like it to stop. Please.”

“Well, still a stickler for manners, I’ve always loved that about you, (Y/N). But, I’m sorry to say that all the pleading in the world won’t get me to stop. They’ll eat you up out there.”

You just want to run away. Why was he always hot on your heels? Springing up in all these random locations and now he’s actually _talking_ to you-

There’s a lot of things you want to say, the most prevalent being to deny his love for you. Instead, you settle on a simple, “How long?”

“Well, I’d say since you got here, sugar. Just got curious, s’all. And everyone in this town knew that you were mine- everyone but you. ‘Til now.”

“Please stop.”

It’s barely a demand, but it’s curt and portrays some sort of anger.

You flinch away from his metal hand on your head that ruffles your hair gently.

“Don’t kid yourself, sweetheart. You wouldn’t get by without me.”

With that, he’s clinking away from you. Every step echos in your ears.

———

You’re beginning to feel stupid for never asking before. The only time you’d even brought up the elephant in the room (the elephant being the town’s local cowboy) was at your old job. Maybe if you’d even started a conversation with him earlier this could’ve been avoided. Asked him who he was, what his intentions were. It almost seems impolite to have been ignoring him for so long, after the countless times you’ve been in the same building together.

But in the small town, he was just minding his business and you were just minding yours. There wasn’t a reason to talk to him.

Today, you’re going to stay indoors. There’s a gun in your house. If Jesse shows up, you can use it on him. You’re not sure what kind of military service he went into but at the very least, your gun should intimidate him, right?

He open carries. Those pistols of his are constantly in their holsters, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him without them. First you noticed the spurs, then you noticed the hat, and thirdly the guns. A warning. You wonder why he feels like he needs to carry them everywhere.

Based on last night’s conversation, it could have something to do with you.

Trying to quell your anxious body, you turn on the television. That’s where you stay for the rest of the afternoon- you’d woken up late. The only things you get up to do is get food. Even touching your phone seems like too much, like it’ll wrap itself around your wrist and bite you.

The day goes on with no sign of Jesse. Your gun lies on the coffee table in front of you. The smallest of pistols. You’re beginning to doubt that it’d be much good against him.

Late into the day, you hear a knock on the door.

The first reflex that comes to hand is turning off the television.

Another knock.

You pull the pistol closer to you, sliding it along the wooden surface. A shiver runs through you.

“You’re not usually one t’coop yourself up like this,” Jesse’s voice calls. “Don’t get shy on me.”

The walls are paper thin. It’s hard to tell if he’s in your house already.

“By the way, I’d be grateful I were you. I’m actually usin’ the front door. Your windows look fairly breakable, sugar.”

He knows you’re here. Meanwhile, you don’t know a thing about how he’s been spying on you. Your heartbeat thuds in your ears and your sweaty palms are clasping around the pistol’s handle.

“What do you want from me?” You weakly call out.

“Oh, just a chat. See how you’re doin’… remind you of your manners, seeing as you can’t keep avoiding me.”

You draw the pistol back, releasing the safety.

“I’ve got a gun. Don’t come in here.”

You can hear him wolf whistle before ramming into your door. If you remember correctly, the locks on your door are flimsy. If only you’d gotten them replaced, shit, shit, _shit-_

“A gun doesn’t scare me, pumpkin. We both know who’s the faster draw out of the two of us.”

“Leave me alone, you perverted-!”

The door crashes open, metal clinking against the ground. With ease, Jesse steps into your living room and shoots the pistol out of your hand. You hear it scatter across the floor in tiny metal fragments, but you can’t tear your eyes away from Jesse, who’s still got his own, smoking gun in his hand.

“That’s not a nice way to speak to your ol’ pal Jesse.” He says, putting his pistol back into it’s holster and proceeding to light a cigar, as if he’d casually walked into your house and not put a bullet hole in your wall within two seconds of entering.

And for a moment everything stays still. He’s standing, smoking. You’re pressed up against the edge of the sofa. Neither of you make any moves.

“You aren’t my old anything.” You whisper out, more in an attempt to convince yourself.

Nothing changes in his face. Jesse keeps looking down at you with an expression of pure apathy, absolutely uncaring of your feelings. He takes another drag before answering, “Y’sure? I’ve known you since you got here.”

“Friendship would require me to know you.”

It’s one of those sentences that sounds so stupid once it comes out of your mouth. Jesse quirks an eyebrow from underneath his hat and smirks. He knows this, you know this- and the issue is that he doesn’t care.

“Well maybe that’s what I’m tryin’ to do. You don’t let me, though,”

You’re silent. It’s like the store again, except you’re staring down at your own feet this time.

“Even after knowing all those favours I did… n’ yer still bein’ a brat.”

“I didn’t need-“

He steps forward, only to press a gloved finger to your lips.

“And before you tell me that you didn’t need favours from me, I want you to start usin’ that pretty head of yours to remember every robbery, muggin’ and murder you’ve heard about since arrivin’.”

Those things did tend to happen to newbies. You’d originally considered it some sort of miracle that you were able to escape all of it and continue on with your daily life. You felt like you fitted in.

Apparently not, at least not naturally.

Your eyes drift off to the side. Jesse makes an amused hum once you look like you’re really thinking.

“Why?” You mumble against his finger.

He removes it to tap at his own chin. “Suppose it started out as pity. Saw you and knew they’d give you hell,”

Another drag. “But it’s turned into something else. I want my thanks.”

“I don’t owe you anything.”

“Don’t really care about that, if I’m bein’ honest. If you’re not gonna give me anything, guess I should just take it.”

“What would you take?”

Another dumb question. You suppose you’ve started looking around at the valuables in the living room, mind drifting to them unconsciously.

“You still a virgin?”

You try to leap up from the couch. Jesse uses one, broad hand to keep you in place, reaching for his gun with the other. His hand drifts over it in a threat.

“C’mon, let’s make our first time together sweet-“

“There won’t be a first time!” You scream, trying to struggle free from his hand which now grips your shirt.

“Plan B, I suppose. Wait, y’wanna do this in your place or mines?”

His prosthetic hand has now gathered up your wrists, holding them together firmly. The metal prison is impossible to escape.

“Uh-uh,” He says, seeing how you’re still continuing to struggle. “I’m bein’ kind here, you’ve got a choice. My place ain’t far from here, and you’ll be goin’ there anyways.”

Nothing is going right. Every possible factor is working against you. Not having neighbours and living in a remote house means that Jesse is the only one who can hear you scream. Wearing a skirt today, feeling one of Jesse’s hands slide up your thigh and hook around your panties.

“—Mm, darlin’, I love it when you give me easy access—“

And the fact that one of his usual pistols has been replaced; a good length of rope hangs at his hip where the holster should be.

The cigar is still in his mouth as Jesse moves eagerly with with his right hand, working inhumanly fast. Your panties are tossed to the side whilst tears start to scream down your cheeks amongst your wails. He quickly detaches a length of rope from his hip, pulling it free within seconds. You realise that there’s several lengths, when the rope doesn’t totally disappear.

In one, swift motion, Jesse detaches his metal hands from around your wrist, choosing instead to grip onto your shirt to flip you over. It takes a few seconds, with your kicking and feeble attempts at scrambling away from him but he manages, using his bodyweight to press you against the sofa via straddling you. It doesn’t take long for him to gather your wrists back up into his hand, and this time you can feel rope against them. Jesse works on your squirming arms, quick and harsh enough to leave rope burn, and you kick against him every time he tightens it.

“Just like a real lasso, huh? Nice and tight.” He says, admiring his handiwork. You shriek in horror at the realisation that you can’t move free your wrists from his bindings.

You keep kicking, hoping that by some miracle you’ll hit him where it hurts. Unfortunately, you’re not in a position to aim for that.

“And now… this little problem.”

He slides off you and repeats the process for your ankles, gathering them together much easier than you’d like to think.

You’re laying face down on the sofa, now, sobbing into the cushions. Jesse flips up your skirt and lands a firm smack on your bare ass (thankfully with his flesh hand), causing you to yelp.

 _“That_ was for strugglin’ so damn much.”

Jesse abandons you momentarily, walking through to the kitchen and fetching a glass of water. He comes back, rooting around in his pocket momentarily to produce a pack of pills. After putting them on the table in favour of getting you into a more upright position, he pops out two and holds them in his hand, showing them to you.

“D’you think you can swallow these for me without a fuss? Or do I have to go over your rear a few more times?”

You sniffle, then nod, in total acceptance of your vulnerable state.

He smiles earnestly, placing them in your waiting mouth individually and lifting up the water for you to drink. You’re surprisingly eager to quench your newfound thirst built up from all the screaming and tears.

Jesse coos at you, caressing your cheek fondly at how obediently you swallow the water. Pangs of pain run up and down your arms.

It hurts. This isn’t happening.

You start to fade when he picks you up, putting you over his shoulder. It’s not long before you’re sound asleep against him, aches lost in a dreamless slumber.

———

Drifting back into full consciousness takes a while. Even with the panic of your situation, most of you just wants to go back to sleep. There’s hardly any feeling in your body.

Until you feel something writhing inside of you. Down _there._

Your eyes crack open to see Jesse kneeling on the bed with you. Both of your ankles are now tied loosely to the bedposts, same with your hands.

He’s pumping in and out of you at a leisurely pace, cigar hanging out of his mouth but tilting up in a smirk when his eyes meet yours. You don’t struggle. Not even when he curls a finger inside of you, massaging right against a sensitive spot that has you convulsing.

Not even when he pulls his two fingers out, holding them up to light, and separating them apart so you can see the strings of your own slick between them.

Not even when he moves his hand back to rub over your clitoris roughly, taking immense pleasure in the way your eyes squeeze shut.

“Morning, darlin’,” He says, removing his cigar with his metal hand. It glints in the dim light. “Hope you slept well.”

You’re in some sort of basement. Your eyes drift over to the singular, high-up window to observe the darkness outside.

“Morning?” You reply, both greeting him back and expressing your confusion. Your lips clamp shut on their own to avoid any embarrassing noises from coming out due to his touch.

The more sensations return to your body, the more you wish that he’d sedate you again. You despise the way your cunt clenches around nothing, aching, wanting more with every pulse of arousal that comes with his movements.

“You’ve been keepin’ this man waiting.”

You’re not sure what to reply to that. So you just look at him, eyes wide with fear, hands trying to free themselves for the first time. His hand pulls away from your dripping pussy and up to your breasts. You can feel your juices on his fingers as he toys with your nipples, playing with them experimentally. Every jolt goes right to your nether regions, which longs for his presence again. You breathe in harshly, feeling like the air’s been knocked from your lungs.

“Where’s those niceties went, sweetie? Ain’t you gonna offer me an apology?”

“Sorry.” You respond hoarsely.

He’s the one that sedated you, an angry part of your brain calls out.

“Aw, pumpkin. I might just find myself being gentle for you.”

A transient thought wishes that he’d taken his turn whilst you were still knocked out.

Jesse leans over your body, part of his serape grazing over your stomach. He puts his cigar out on the convenient ashtray that sits atop your bedside table.

And then he starts to undress and tears glaze over your eyes. It’s easy for him, he’s only really wearing his serape and normal clothes, boots and hat abandoned.

You can see his erection straining against his pants. You swallow roughly, estimating the size by a sheer glance.

He takes off his belt, his stupid-big-buckled “BAMF” belt, and removes his pants with haste, underwear coming with them.

The serape comes next- and no wonder he was wearing it, the cold down here has you shivering every few seconds. But Jesse keeps stripping, and stripping, until he’s just as bare as you. Completely naked. The first thing he does is press his body against yours, diving in for a hot kiss that contrasts severely with the room temperature. When you don’t kiss back, he grabs something from the bedside table.

One of his guns. He holds it, just up to your left wrist, glacial metal making contact with your flesh.

“I wasn’t planning to kill you, but I don’t mind blowin’ off one of your hands. That’d be a real bitch, wouldn’t it, darlin’?”

You feel the barrel press in further and you whimper.

“Y-Yes.”

“So, y’gonna behave nicely for me?”

You nod your head against the pillow, letting out a tight lipped, “Mmhm.”

Boiling tears spill down the sides of your face.

When he kisses again, you submissively open your mouth to let him explore. You feel his facial hair against your skin, and his tongue against yours. It’s hard to bring yourself to kiss back, but the gun is still in his hand and so you will your tongue to move against his, if only by a little. Jesse seems pleased with this, groaning slightly and tossing the gun back onto the table with a thunk. He uses one arm to steady himself and the other to stroke his leaking cock.

You’ve been denying yourself a look so far. However, when his hips arch up, you can make it out and already feel the stretch against your tender flesh.

Drawing his lips away from yours until only a thread of spit connects you, he lines himself up with your slit and starts to press in.

You make feeble attempts at escaping, legs trying to flail but prevented by their bindings. As predicted, he’s stretching you impossibly wide, pushing in at his own speed with the fondest of smiles on his face. Once he’s fully in, you shudder at the way his blunt head kisses your cervix. Full- you’re absolutely stuffed full of Jesse’s cock and there’s nothing you can do to stop him.

You squeeze around him involuntarily. Undeniably, your body has been waiting to be fucked and McCree is all too happy to provide. You keep telling yourself it’s not your fault that he got you aroused while you were passed out, deep down, you don’t want this-

Jesse sighs, adjusting himself before drawing out and thrusting back in, letting you experience the full force of his shaft in a single movement. You hate the way a whimper spills from your lips, despise the way he wipes tears from your face and reassuringly and _loathe_ the way that his thrust sends electricity racing through your veins, toes curling, nails pressing into your palms.

He chuckles, enjoying the sight. You tug at the restraints in aggravation, gritting your teeth.

“Don’t be like that, (Y/N). I can _always_ change my mind.”

It’s said half-heartedly, but there’s still the ghost of a threat lurking within the meaning.

He starts to move again. His hips, as powerful as the rest of him, smack against yours in retaliation to your previous transgression. You can feel every inch of his cock pound in and out of you, sparing you nothing. It’s enough to have your face flushed, body walking the thin line between pain and pleasure. Achey bliss. When his lips make contact with yours again, you kiss back, wanting his body even closer so the crisp air would stop biting into you. Heat, you’re in need of more heat- from the way his humid breath fans across your face to the skin-on-skin contact of your legs. Had the circumstances been different, you might’ve wrapped your arms around his muscled chest to pull him closer.

Those thoughts disappear when he starts to make more punctuated, distinct thrusts. They hit deep with vigour and force, each one progressively harder than the last.

Your eyes roll back. He makes some crude comments about how much you want this and your mind draws rapid, blurred conclusions about how your body does but your brain doesn’t.

“You’ll be the best wife, I can tell just by lookin’ at you. Always knew.”

Wife? Marriage?

“…not getting married to a stranger.” You mumble.

The next piston of his hips is so violent that you mewl loudly, clamping down on him with all of your might. Your body lurches against the mattress, feeling the full impact within yourself, a tremor that shakes your entire world.

“I’m no stranger, (Y/N). Mind your manners.” He growls.

Trying to make it seem much more like confusion than genuinely trying to defy him, you say, “I don’t know you?”

“Give it some time, darlin’. Nine months, if y’wanna be precise.”

And you’re trying to escape again, relentless. There must be a weak spot, surely, anything, maybe if you bring this leg up sharply-

“Now-you-stop-that!” He snaps, plunging in with every word.

He’s subdued you with a mere few gyrations and you’re sobbing, but you try your best to quiet down when his hand starts to reach across to the bedside table again. You shake your head no and tell him you’ll be on your best behaviour, trying to spare yourself from a missing hand. Fortunately, he pauses, taking your babbling into account.

“So now you wanna be good…”

He goes slower, managing to pull moans out from amongst your hiccups.

“Hearing those noises, baby, it’s makin’ me fall in love with you all over again.”

Your muscles tense up when he dives down, planting kisses along the edge of your jaw. You blink away enough tears to make eye contact with him, warm, every part of him is indulgently warm.

It’s the way that his hand sneaks down to your clit again that has you whining for more. He complies, giving you what you want, though not going fast.

“(Y/N) (L/N)… don’t know why I bothered learning your last name, you won’t need it for much longer.”

He applies more pressure to your clit. Your core tightens from the increase in pleasure, betraying your alarmed mind.

Wife. Pregnant. His.

The life flashes before your eyes and you swear to yourself that there wouldn’t be a day where you stopped struggling against him- you need to go home, leave this town forever, maybe move in with that old friend-

You can feel his member twitching inside of you as his pace slows down. He does this so can he refocus on his breasts, playing around with them using his metal hand. His touch is like ice, you lurch away from him but there’s no true escape from McCree. He’s still fucking you, a constant presence that refuses to go away. There’s not even a chance of dissociating from this, the humiliating reason for which is because he’s actually making you feel good. You’ve started to clutch in time with his thrusts which speed up every so often, notably when he pinches and twists your nipples mercilessly. Something rumbles in his metal arm- a foreign vibration that you’ve never felt before- and you can feel it in his metal fingertips on your breasts. That particular kind of touch coupled with his fat cock pounding you into the mattress is enough to have your eyes shutting in euphoria, mouth slackened as shameless moans tumble out.

The arm thing, you want it on your clit, and though you can barely get the words out, McCree sees how you communicate this desire using your gaze and a low whine. A sort of hurt, “Why didn’t you do this earlier?” kind of expression, beseeching him for his touch.

He knows exactly what you mean. At first, he only holds his fingers lightly above your clit. Then you see the way his metal wrist flexes in a certain away, triggering the oscillation that has you quivering and whimpering without a second thought. He repeats it a few more times, with each one pressing harder until it reaches a point where you can feel the motion surge all the way through your nether regions, not a single part feeling untouched.

Jesse continues to double your pleasure with his long strokes until, eventually, you’re spasming around him for an orgasm that’s long overdue. You throw your head back, letting out a moan, constricting around his shaft rapidly. He keeps going, still chasing after his own climax. It lets you ride out the orgasm to the max, feeling waves of ecstasy roll over you. You eventually calm down, just passing the threshold to overstimulation when Jesse holds himself in place and comes deep inside of you, painting your insides white with his virile seed. His cock throbs against your walls, being milked by your overstimulated cunt. 

Your blood runs cold as you come to terms with getting pregnant. Internally, you beg for some mishap, some fluke that’ll rewind the awful possibility- until realising that Jesse is clearly a persistent man, and you’ll only get raped again and again until he’s satisfied with your round belly.

He drags himself off you, unties the restraints at your feet, puts most of himself back together and leaves- promising you a bath if you behave.

You weakly shut your eyes, shifting your rear uncomfortably against the mattress.

The burn in your arms is back.

———

You can’t really tell if you fell asleep or not. All you know is that, when you reopen your eyes, McCree is untying your hands and telling you that he trusts you to behave yourself on the way up to the bathroom.

It’s still dark and yellow, artificial light seeps out of the bathroom, into the poorly-lit hallway.

A tub of fragrant, steaming water is waiting inside it, and you want to run in, shut the door behind you and leap into it’s clean embrace.

Things are, of course, not to be so simple.

Because Jesse follows you into the room, locking the door behind both of you. It’s unnecessary to do that, you think, if you’re the only two people occupying his home. But it does a good job of making you feel totally enclosed, cut off from the outside world.

You’re already undressed. Jesse looks at you expectantly, nodding over to the bath with his arms folded.

He looks bigger when he does that. You’re not sure you like it.

In the end, you sink into the water, letting him praise you for doing so.

Jesse tackles your hair first, giving it a mere shampoo and dismissing it as done after using a plastic jug to rinse it out. It’s probably the same stuff he uses for his own hair. You feel yourself floating away to somewhere nicer the more his thick fingers massage your scalp.

His touches are gentle now. Just as you’re reaching for the sponge, he swipes it out of your reach and lathers it up with soap himself. Jesse clearly has the intent to wash you.

Seeing his pistol back in it’s holster, you comply. You allow your mind to shut off completely, accepting the fact that you’re going to have to let him violate your body some more in order to get clean. You’ll just be unresponsive, try not to give him any satisfaction from the way you squirm or anything like that.

“I best get round to some explaining, hm?”

You’re shocked out of your trance by Jesse’s deep voice. Your eyes flicker towards his expectantly.

“Well, the rules ain’t so bad. Just behave yourself, you’ll know what to do. I don’t have any intentions to make you miserable, sweetheart. In fact, I’m perfectly sure that we can make each other happy.”

You wish he’d never talked. His touch feels disgusting on your body, getting into every crevice. There’s a weak struggle in your mind at returning to the daze, but nothing can quite drag you out of your awful reality.

“I want to make a wife out of you, s’all. Ain’t that a much less stressful job than anything else you were lookin’ for?”

He expects a response.

“Well, one of them was just sorting papers…”

 _“Don’t_ sass me.” He commands, gripping harshly at your arm. You conjure up your most pitiful expression and throw it at him, thankfully getting him to stop. You don’t need any more pain at your arms after the prolonged period of restraints.

He sighs and shakes his head.

“Personally, I never found it hard to cook. Or clean. Or light cigars. I’m sure you’ll be a perfect fit- well, I know that much already.” He says, giving you a sly wink.

You shudder visibly. Maybe next bath time, you’ll put up a fight. This is mortifying and a sickly feeling of guilt sinks to the bottom of your stomach, one that spawns from not doing anything to prevent it.

When Jesse asks you to stand up, you end up taking your time. It gets to a point where he just slips his firm hands under your arms, hoisting you into standing.

It’s then when he addresses your legs and you cross your arms across your body, hugging yourself tightly. Jesse makes some faux-sympathetic noises, telling you that there’s nothing to be scared of. The way his hands so shamelessly touch your inner thighs says differently.

But bath time passes eventually, and you’re soon being told to step onto the mat whilst he wraps you in a fluffy towel.

He’s even worse when he dries you, insisting that he has to get to every part of you twice over in order to stop you from getting a cold. His touch lingers, even when he’s dragging you back to the basement by only your wrist.

You sit on the bed and he crouches by your side.

“Now…” He says, pulling out a new cigar from it’s box. You’re sat up on the bed, shivering, not yet restrained by the rope again.

And he digs into his pocket, pulling out a lighter which he places into your hand.

“You light this real nice for me, sweetie, and I’ve got a comforter that I can leave you wrapped up in. Don’t think you want to find out what the alternative is.”

He locks eyes with you, letting you wither under his piercing gaze. The lighter is rolled over in your hand as you fumble with it, experimentally clicking it into a lit flame. Somehow, you can feel the scarce heat radiating on your skin. Another shiver. You were going to put up a fight, but you’re horribly cold and desperate.

Trembling, you bring the lighter up. He places his cigar into his mouth, waiting for you to light it.

And you do. Obediently. Dropping the lighter back into his hand when you’re finished, basking in his smirk. He gets back up and holds up his index finger, as if to tell you he’ll be a minute.

And when he returns, he’s got a big bundle of white in his hands, which he flaps over your body. It covers you generously, spilling off the sides of the bed.

“See if you can get in another nap before it’s time for breakfast. I’ll be back in a bit.”

But when he shuts the door behind him, the first thing you do is wrap it around yourself and search for a way out. It’s disappointing to find nothing, leaving you with a hollow feeling in your gut. An empty bedside table. The basement door is locked. The window, well, you’d never reach that. The only things that you can move in the room is the pillow, comforter and the ashtray. Your clothes are nowhere to be seen. Jesse removed the rope.

There isn’t anything else to do but accept his suggestion and try to fall asleep again.

———

Your first priority is getting fed and dressed. Any form of resistance, you conclude, should come after that.

Jesse makes you pancakes, which, you have to admit, are rather tasty. He’s got the recipe nailed.

After breakfast comes a time that Jesse only calls “quality time”. You soon learn that this just means to sit on his lap and behave yourself while a rather predictable Western plays on his television.

He says it’s your manners that makes him like you, so maybe if you’re rude enough…

Horrible idea, you rationalise.

But worth a shot.

So you squirm in the shirt that he’s so graciously lent to you, quickly succeeding in causing him some form of irritation.

“Baby, do you mind settling? Try t’enjoy the movie.”

“I don’t like it.” You say, making another attempt to wriggle out of his lap.

No matter what arm he uses, his grip is like iron. He keeps you pressed up against his chest, refusing to let you escape.

“Yer just bein’ difficult,” He states. “I’m warning you now. _Settle.”_

“I hate this film,” You hiss. “I hate how it reminds me of you and your stupid cowboy getup-“

His metal hand locks around your jaw, pressing down with bruising force. His voice, softly whispering into your ear, betrays the way his grip tightens with every word.

“You don’t speak to me that way. You need to hush before I start teaching you how to.”

His grip releases.

“I’m uncomfortable-“

“And I’m willing to make accommodations if you’d just shut it.”

“I want to go home, not be trapped with some lunatic who can’t remember what the appropriate time to wear a Halloween costume is.”

“I’m not getting peace from you this morning, am I?” He laughs quietly.

It sends chills down your spine.

He shoves you off his lap, holding one of your wrists to keep you in place. When he starts to undo his belt, your thoughts immediately go to the possibility of being raped again- but he doesn’t remove his pants…

Soon you’re being tugged across his lap, stomach falling against his thighs, almost winding you.

And there’s no hands on you when he doubles his belt up, preparing it.

“Stupid cowboy getup, huh? Haven’t heard the Halloween one before, not exactly. Don’t think it’s the most original one in the book, but still, kudos to you, ‘suppose,”

Your brain wants you to make pleads for him to reconsider- it was just a little joke-

Your mouth stays clamped shut in utter defiance.

“But I guess I’ll show you just how stupid my outfit is, shall I? So, y’gotta make a decision, darlin’. Buckle or leather?”

You shudder, teeth gritted. Of course this was a horrible idea, the punishment far outweighed the short term pleasure of insulting him.

“If you don’t pick, then _I_ get to choose.” He says in a low tone.

The fear overtakes your body. There’s nothing to lose by asking for a softer punishment. Except your dignity, perhaps, but you’ve forgotten about that since bath time.

“Leather.”

“Someone’s forgettin’ to be polite today-“

“Leather, please.”

“ _Much_ better.” He says, sliding up the shirt on your body for a full view of your rear.

“Mm… not sure if I should go easy on you because it’s the first time, or hard to make an impact…”

You begin to see that Jesse’s going to make you beg for everything, no matter what you do.

“I think… going easy would be best… please? I’m sorry-”

“You will be.”

And the first smack of his belt comes down on your ass with a crack. You scream out, apologies streaming from your mouth afterwards as tears brim at your eyes.

“I take it back! Sorry-!”

Jesse gives you no response, save for the next lash. It already feels red and hot and angry, blistering your poor rear without remorse. Your hands are clenched by your sides, body tense in a weak defence mechanism against the intense pain.

With the next one, he waits for you to stop wailing before asking if you still think his cowboy getup is “stupid”.

“No- it’s not stupid, I didn’t mean it, I like it-“

“You’re just saying anything now, ain’t ya?”

The next smack is followed by nothing but apologies from you. It lands on the back of your thighs, instantly dooming you to finding sitting excruciating for a few days. If you were uncomfortable before…

Jesse aims a few more in quick succession, taking note of how you’ve began to shut up in favour of snivelling and crying. With every sob, there’s a weak, barely-there “sorry” to accompany it. He absentmindedly runs a hand over your ass, admiring the red marks.

“Couple more.”

You clench your fists harder and nod, finding comfort in knowing that this’ll be over soon. You just need to stick with it for two more smacks-

Now one more, because he’s chosen to suddenly grace you with another on the backs of your thighs, aiming for the other side than last time. Squealing, you thrash on his lap, letting his metal hand run over your back to calm you down.

“One more.”

He takes the time to adjust the belt in his hands. Must’ve lost his grip or something.

But when it comes down, it hurts more than ever before, stinging in a concentrated area. You’re crying, suddenly realising that he’s used his buckle for the last one which causes you the most severe pain you’ve felt. You helplessly wail into the sofa cushions, calves kicking slightly from the pain that’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt. You can practically feel the imprint of the mirrored letters on your ass and to make matters worse, Jesse traces over them with a finger.

“A little part of my getup’s gonna be a part of yours for a good few days, pumpkin. Ain’t that sweet?”

You’re not sure what to do. In order to seek as much of his mercy as possible, you nod your head and sniffle out a final apology.

It’s then, with his branding on your bottom and his strong arms picking you up, that you finally acknowledge there isn’t an escape.

So you’ll just keep your head down and behave yourself until a good enough opportunity arises. There’s no point in making your situation any worse than it has to be… even if that means obeying him without question.

**Author's Note:**

> [💖Tumblr💖](https://www.tumblr.yanlovex3.com)


End file.
